


Longing to Linger

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 01:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12097344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: Clarke is drunk and Bellamy takes care of her





	Longing to Linger

**Author's Note:**

> An anon asked for Bellamy taking care of drunk Clarke 
> 
> (Title from Dream A Little Dream of Me by Ella Fitzgerald)

“Just a few more feet, Princess.” Bellamy tries to refrain from smiling as he herds Clarke the last few feet to their door. She’s bent double, wheezing in laughter at some joke he only half heard as he tried to get her up the stairs in one piece.

His roommate isn’t usually one to get wasted when they all go out for drinks, but tonight she’d showed up half an hour late, declared that it was ‘her turn,’ and promptly started knocking back shots.

(Bellamy would be more worried about her if he didn’t know she’d just turned in her last paper of the semester that afternoon, and if she hadn’t been cackling at every joke as if it were the first and funniest one she’d ever heard.)

As soon as he gets the door open, Clarke is kicking off her shoes and leaving them where they land. Bellamy surreptitiously collects them to deposit on the rack by the door, both because he’s a neat freak and to distract himself from the way she’s shimmying her bra out of her left sleeve.

“Feels good to be free,” she declares, flinging her bra across the room. It lands on his bookshelf, which makes him redden inexplicably. Clarke doesn’t seem to notice, continuing into her room and leaving the door open as she calls,”Free from school, free from responsibilities, free from _boob prisons_.”

Bellamy does let himself smirk now, when he’s certain she can’t see him.

“Don’t ever restrict your breasts on my account,” he calls, wandering into the kitchen to see about getting her some water before she passes out. He has some time. She’s drunk enough that she’s still wired, though he knows the crash is coming. “I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

He misses most of her response, though he does catch, “… _selfless_ ,” in a tone that sounds almost sincere. “Such a good roommate. You’re the best, Bell.”

“And I’m going to remind you that you said that, tomorrow.”

He carries two glasses (both for her) into the living room, stopping short when he catches sight of her. She’s flopped onto the couch, scrolling on her phone, which isn’t notable in and of itself. But her t-shirt hangs loose on her frame as if it’s one of the ones he’s been missing since the last time he did laundry, and she isn’t wearing any pants.

His brain short-circuits.

“What are you doing?”

She pushes a button and soft, jazzy music begins to float from his Bluetooth speaker. A grin spreads across her face when she sees the cups in his hands. “More drinks?”

He snorts softly, snapping out of it.

“Hangover prevention,” he tells her, sitting down a safe distance away and passing her one of the glasses.

Clarke rolls her eyes but sips at the water. “This isn’t very rock and roll.”

Bellamy nearly spits out his own sip; her eyes gleam with smugness. “Shut up and drink your water, Clarke.”

“Bossy.” She takes another sip. The music shifts to a new song and to his surprise, she begins to hum along, her bare toes tapping against the coffee table completely out of rhythm with the beat.

“You know this one?” He asks, amused. She follows his gaze to her feet and snickers, the sudden burst of air from her nose making water splash from her glass onto her face.

Which, in turn, only makes her laugh harder.

“You’re a mess,” he says, fondness pressing against the inside of his smile. She beams back at him.

“My mom used to listen to music like this in the car,” she hums, draining the last of her glass and glaring when he immediately switches it out for the one in his hands. “Not fair.”

“What’s not fair is how many more tequila shots you had than I did,” he shoots back.

“You could’ve got drunk with me! ‘S not my fault you’re…” She makes a face and motions vaguely, sloshing water onto the couch. “Oops.”

“Careful.”

“See? This is my point.” She sets the glass down on the coffee table and stands, rocking back and forth on her feet. “Come on.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you until you put pants on.”

“ _Come on_ ,” she urges, grabbing his hands and pulling him up, nearly tripping over the coffee table in her haste to get him standing. He catches her just in time, her body at a precarious angle. “See?” She breathes, clutching his arm and hopping until she can get her feet back under her, then stumbling as she tries to spin away from him. “You’re already good at this.”

“At what?”

Clarke gives him a look, their hands clasped and outstretched between them for a fleeting moment before she tries to spin back in. She stumbles again, feet getting caught in a blanket on the floor, and ends up catching herself on his arms, muffling her laughter into his chest. Despite himself, Bellamy feels a smile grow on his face.

“At dancing,” she tells him, getting ready to go again. Bellamy catches her with an arm around her waist before she can go far.

“You’re going to break your neck,” he grumbles, towing her to an area of the floor that’s free of obstacles. Clarke rolls her eyes and lifts her finger to his face, pushing at the corners of his mouth..

“You’re going to break… your _face_. From all the _no fun_ you’re having.”

“Good one.” He rolls his eyes right back and catches her hand, clasping it in his own as his arm around her waist tightens. He pulls her close, mimicking the same back-and-forth rock step she’d been doing earlier. “I’m not saying we can’t dance, Princess. I’m just saying we should make sure we both survive it with all our bones in tact. And our dignity.”

“Screw dignity,” she mumbles, but lets her hand come to rest on his shoulder. They sway in contented silence for a moment and Bellamy has to smile when he realizes they’re actually on beat.

“Who knew you could let me lead, Princess?”

She scoffs, resting her head on his shoulder. “It was my idea to dance. I’m letting you lead. So… I’m still in charge.”

His smile grows and he tugs her closer, his hand finding the small of her back as she tucks her head under his chin.

“Whatever you say, Clarke.”

He tries not to think about how soft and warm she is in his arms, how right it feels to hold her hand in his. About the clothes she isn’t wearing and the parts of her he can feel pressed up against him that he ought not to be noticing.

The music is slow, the singer’s crooning meaningless when he’s so distracted by the girl in his arms, but it’s perfect all the same. Romance and longing are carried on every note (though it’s possible he’s projecting).

Their gentle swaying slows as the song reaches its end, and though Bellamy wants to stay in this moment forever, he makes himself pull back to take a peek at Clarke’s face. Her eyes have drifted closed in contentment, her body lax in his grip, as if he’s the only thing keeping her upright at the moment.

He shakes his head and rubs her back with his free hand.

“Time for bed, Sleeping Beauty.”

She mumbles something incoherent and buries her face in his shirt.

“Come on. Bed’s that way.” He nudges her toward her room, his heart twisting when she refuses to let go of his hand.

She protests as she goes, but as soon as she sees her bed she flops onto it ungracefully. Bellamy maneuvers the covers out from under her, making sure none of her limbs are hanging off the sides before he tucks the comforter around her. She clutches it tightly, squirming down into it until she finds the spot she likes and sighs into the pillow. He bites back his smile, freeing a hair from her mouth and tucking it behind her ear.

“Night, Princess.”

“Wait.” Her hand darts out to wrap around his wrist. He can only stare at it in surprise. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For taking care of me.” Her fingers loosen. “And for dancing with me.”

He can’t stop himself. Some deep-seated impulse pushes him to lean down and kiss her hair before he even thinks twice about it. “Anytime,” he says, prying her fingers away. “All you have to do is ask.”


End file.
